Evita - Review

London Palladium, London




***



Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Lyrics by Tim Rice
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

The cast of Evita

Six years after bringing an outstanding Evita to London’s Open Air Theatre (click here for a review of that 2019 production) and amidst a blaze of well orchestrated publicity, Jamie Lloyd helms his show into the London Palladium. But what was once wondrous in Regents Park, fails to stun in the West End.

In 2019 it was Samantha Pauly, an actor relatively unknown in the UK who played Eva, delivering a performance that shone both in its excellence and its leading of her supporting company. Today however it is Hollywood’s wunderkind Rachel Zegler who heads the bill, a young woman who knows how to play to the camera but who lacks the chops to convincingly act through song on stage.

Familiar with delivering leading roles in starry close-up on the big screen, Zegler has amassed a following of millions. But with only a modest exposure to having performed in (let alone leading) a major show on Broadway or in the West End, it appears that much like Eva Duarte herself, Zegler has been hired for star quality over experience. 

Any production of Evita has to rest on the strengths of its leading lady, who in this production is sometimes found to be missing in action. As has been widely reported, Zegler sings Don’t Cry For Me Argentina, from the Palladium's outside balcony to a bunch of assembled passers-by, while the paying crowd *inside* the theatre are reduced to mere voyeurs, watching her via a big screen livestream. That the translucent screen barely shields the show’s upstage orchestra who remain visible throughout, is a distraction. 

Much has been made of Lloyd’s use of live-action video, notably with his 2023 take on Sunset Boulevard that saw Tom Francis careering around London’s Strand before winding up back on stage at The Savoy. But that of course was different. Francis was not the show’s main star, nor his song the evening’s biggest number.

At the Palladium we find Evita performing one of the most exquisite songs in the canon, from a remote location that is at best, acoustically compromised. Unlike previous on-stage Evitas, remove this Eva’s microphone and she doesnt just become hard to hear, she becomes completely inaudible, Lloyd's staging denying the audience the experience of hearing Zegler's natural tone and timbre as she delivers the classic number. It is not an unreasonable expectation that a live musical (and especially this musical, for which the money keeps rolling in at up to £245 per ticket) should deliver songs that are sung live on stage, all performed to the highest standard that the performers’ voices and the venue’s acoustics will allow. At the Palladium, the audience is being cheated. 

And while the outside throng of several hundred are no doubt appreciating the nightly free rendition of the show’s nine o’clock number, as Lloyd’s camera pulls back to reveal Soho’s mostly empty Argyll Street (including the distracting logo of the next door Pret restaurant that hoves into view), it all seems a little tacky and contrived and, both literally and artistically, many miles away from the narrative's intended romance of Buenos Aires and the Casa Rosada. Good theatre should suspend the audience's disbelief, transporting the audience to another place. When the only place that they are transported to is a grimy London side street, then that fragile bubble of imagination bursts.  

Back inside the theatre, Fabian Aloise’s choreography remains exciting and imaginative, equally Jon Clark’s brutal lighting designs heighten the violence of Peron’s fascism. But the production's sound design is ghastly, with too many songs coming across as though they are being shouted from the stage into an inaudible oblivion.

The Palladium balcony scene has proved a brilliant marketing gimmick, with the show having grabbed news headlines across the country and word of mouth spreading like wildfire. In reality however, the scene’s flaws see it amounting to little more than a modern interpretation of The Emperor’s New Clothes.

Jamie Lloyd’s revived Evita proves that star quality is no substitute for talent.

Runs until 6th September

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Sunset Boulevard - Review

Savoy Theatre, London

***

Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber

Lyrics by Don Black & Christopher Hampton

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Nicole Scherzinger

The essence of this production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard is in its advertised titling, 'Sunset Blvd.' The 'Blvd.' a staccato spelling, stripped back, laid bare – Jamie Lloyd stamping his imprimatur not just upon the staging of the show, but on its publicity too. It is disappointing to note however that the credits for this production make no reference whatsoever to Billy Wilder who directed and co-wrote the 1950 Oscar-winner that was to spawn the musical. How fickle creatives can be.

Nicole Scherzinger steps up to play Norma Desmond, the famously faded Hollywood idol, an actress who decades after her heyday insists that she is still “big, it’s the pictures that got small”. Make no mistake – Scherzinger has a voice of anthemic, stadium-filling power and in some of Fabian Aloise’s dance routines, a sublime athleticism that unhelpfully belies her age. Considering that Desmond is meant to be the ultimate Hollywood has-been, for Scherzinger to move so amazingly across the stage suggests a woman close to the peak of her career, rather than in its deepest trough. She makes fine work of Desmond’s early solo number With One Look, but is found wanting in the second-act’s blockbuster As If We Never Said Goodbye. This latter number has the potential to leave an audience broken, such is its insight into the deluded Desmond’s return to Paramount Studios. Here however, whilst Scherzinger’s vocals are again magnificent it is hard to connect her performance with Desmond’s disconnected despair.

The final act’s lyrics have been changed to fit the leading lady – Black and Hampton wrote “nothing's wrong with being fifty, unless you're acting twenty.” In this show, the “fifty” is changed to “forty”, that only highlights the weakness in having cast Scherzinger (who in close-up looks fabulous in her forties) as the ageing diva. Much like Desmond's futile dream of playing Salome, has Lloyd cast Scherzinger in a role that is ultimately beyond her? 

Distinctly minimalist, and under designer Soutra Gilmour’s vision, Lloyd’s actors are given no props to work with while on stage. The costuming and the staging is completely monochrome, a nod to the early days of Hollywood and there is some ingenious live video close-up work that reflects the show’s cinematic foundation. The black and white colour scheme works and makes for an exciting visual treat.

For no apparent reason the second half opens up backstage with a live video broadcast tracking the story's Hollywood screenwriter Joe Gillis (played by Tom Francis) as he zips through the cast’s dressing rooms before exiting out onto The Strand and back in to the Savoy Theatre, all while singing the title song. Impressive work for sure – but no explanation is offered for this brief movie-in-a show. And why, when Norma tells Joe that she’s got herself a revolver, are we shown a semi-automatic handgun placed on Scherzinger’s backstage dressing table? Sloppy detailing that undermines Lloyd's approach. 

In keeping with Lloyd’s harsh interpretation the two songs that offer a touch of comedy amidst the noir (the ensemble numbers The Lady’s Paying and  Eternal Youth Is Worth A Little Suffering) have been dropped. These excisions however don’t sit well alongside some of the the corny moments that have been incorporated into the video work. Down in the pit Alan Williams’ musical direction is magnificent, delivering a gorgeous interpretation of Lloyd Webber’s melodies.

This production of Sunset Boulevard will be remembered for its casting and its distinctive style. It’s a flawed interpretation for sure – but very entertaining. You won’t be bored.

Runs until 6th January 2024. Rachel Tucker plays the role of Norma Desmond on Mondays.

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

The Effect - Review

National Theatre, London

*****

Written by Lucy Prebble

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Paapa Essiedu and Taylor Russell

After a gap of some 11 years, the National Theatre’s revival of Lucy Prebble’s The Effect is as timely as it is brilliant.

In this ingenious four-hander Paapa Essiedu and Taylor Russell are Tristan and Connie, two volunteers trialling an anti-depressant over a 4 week period in a secure residential facility. Michele Austin and Kobna Holdbrook-Smith are the clinicians Lorna and Toby, overseeing the trial, with Lorna being responsible for the trial’s execution, while Toby is from the drug company who have developed the medicine that’s being tested. In a tight single act that lasts 100 minutes, Prebble immerses us into the intensity of an improbable love that evolves between Tristan and Connie, while also exploring the doctors’ dynamics too.

Director Jamie Lloyd delivers electrifying theatre. Essiedu kicks off as the opportunistic chancer - eager to make a sexual conquest out of Connie, his swagger and machismo almost predatory in the play’s opening scenes. Russell’s Connie is an equally stunning performance as she explores her own responses to Tristan - and as the play unfolds, with one of them on the trialled medication and one on a placebo, the drama deepens to a level of human pain and passion that is at times unbearable to watch such is it’s intensity. In their own predatory sub-plot, the two medics are equally compelling.

As ever, designer Soutra Gilmour provides the staging for Lloyd’s vision, in this instance boldly transforming the Lyttleton’s proscenium stage into a traverse space with racks of seating upstage with the action playing out centrally. The colour scheme is a harsh black and white that Jon Clark’s brutal lighting plots enhance magnificently.

There’s so much to chew over in The Effect - not just the grief and humanity that is played out on stage, but also a wider contemplation of the manipulative powers of Big Pharma. In this post-pandemic world that Prebble could barely have contemplated when she penned her script, the world’s physiological reactions to both Covid and its panoply of speedily rolled-out vaccines, offer up some unexpectedly troubling analogies too.

The Effect is modern writing at its best and again, spectacularly, our National Theatre at its very best too. In Jamie Lloyd’s hands this makes for a night of outstanding, unforgettable theatre.

Runs until 7th October

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Evita - Review

Open Air Theatre, London


*****

Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Lyrics by Tim Rice
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Samantha Pauly and Trent Saunders

Jamie Lloyd’s revival of Evita at the Open Air Theatre, albeit staged in its intended 1940s style, proves to be a masterclass of contemporary political theatre. In a production that is as much rally as world class musical, Lloyd transforms the piece into a commentary on recent times as well as a showcase of some of the finest performing talent to be found on both sides of the pond.

Lloyd, with his regular design partner Soutra Gilmour and choreographer Fabian Aloise, takes the story of Eva Duarte (subsequently, Peron) and charts her rise and fall in a stark brutal staging that is unashamedly sexual and politically brutal. The stage is bare and tiered – save for a rusting and distressed “EVITA”, fashioned in stark iron letters, that hangs over the space. The costumes are evocative of time and place, but it is the lithe writhing movement of the ensemble that define Argentina’s betrayed poor, from whose ranks Eva was to rise to become the wife of President Juan Peron. The occasional use of hand-held cabled mics adds a touch of campaigning urgency to the piece

But it is not just Lloyd’s visualisation of the piece that defines its political punch – although show’s smoking flares and confetti cannon do add to the impact. Rather, the political wit of Tim Rice’s lyrics proves as timeless today as when they were first sung in 1976. There is a veritably cruel incisiveness to Rice’s words that resonate as metaphors for the 21st century. Lloyd offers us hints of Farage and Trump in his contexting, while Rice’s merciless exposition of socialism in And The Money Kept Rolling In makes Jeremy Corbyn’s contemporary canards promising free-stuff to the impressionable seem ruthlessly resonant.

The production values of this show are close to flawless. In the title role, Samantha Pauly is the first of the show’s three trans-Atlantic imports. Pauly perfectly captures Evita’s curious fusion of strength and vulnerability, with a grace in movement and a vocal presence that are spine-tingling. Amidst the darkening trees of Regents Park, Pauly’s big number Don’t Cry For Me Argentina is imbued with a rare beauty.

Another Yank in the show is Trent Saunders as Che. Lloyd has fun with Che, defining him very much as the voice of the Argentinian people as well as the role of questioning chorus to which he had originally been created. Saunders provides the usual amount of deprecating irony towards Evita – but splashed with paint in the final act, he very much represents the spent and abused populace. 

The final American on stage is Ektor Rivera’s Peron. Aside from bringing the production a Latin authenticity, Rivera captures Peron’s sexual irresistibility as well as a convincing, uncaring, fascist governance to his leadership.

There is excellence in the key supporting roles too, with the wonderfully voiced Adam Pearce giving a thuggish sleaze to Augustin Magaldi, while Frances Mayli McCann enchants with Another Suitcase In Another Hall. Placed to the rear of the action and slightly above the stage Alan Williams' orchestra handle Lloyd Webber's South American melodies immaculately - with a particular mention to Ollie Hannifan's exquisite guitar playing. 

Tickets are still on sale, but at the time of this review availability is limited. Rush to see this show – it makes for a thrilling night at the theatre.

Runs until 21st September

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Doctor Faustus - Review

Duke of York’s Theatre, London


***


Written by Christopher Marlowe and Colin Teevan
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Jenna Russell and Kit Harington

Christopher Marlowe’s story of Dr Faustus is well-known. The scholar no longer able to find interest in the traditional fields of knowledge (law, religion and medicine) who delves deep into the dark arts and to make a pact with the Devil, selling his soul in exchange for 24 years of godlike powers. 24 years of fame and success followed by eternal damnation. 

Black and existential in its original form, here Marlowe's play is given a more cynically contemporary twist as Colin Teevan introduces new texts that connect today’s transient and trashy pop culture with the moral vacuum Faust makes for himself. 

The result is  fascinating, disturbing and at the same time farcically ironic, like a delirious post-hangover nightmare. The barely-dressed actors inhabit Soutra Gilmour’s stage as already-damned souls, occasionally with an unbearable tension much like the slow-motion protagonists of a Bill Viola video, at other times simply with aggressive violence.

Kit Harington plays a young Faustus, in possession of both human frailty and ingenuity. His pact with Lucifer however is firmly set in the 21st century, with our anti-hero seeking TV celebrity rather than the traditional order of regular superpowers. No longer a scholar, he becomes a magician like David Copperfield or Dynamo, desperate for popularity. Faustus’ longing for a show in Vegas reveals the height of his ambition: we're not in 1592 anymore and people’s deepest desires have changed. 

Harington, albeit looking more comfortable delivering the modern sections by Teevan than the originals, convinces as the easily-duped Faustus. The real strengths of this production however lie with Jenna Russell’s Mephistopheles and Forbes Masson as Lucifer. Russell’s performance is magnificent, part demonic seductress and part talent agent. Her ability to convey the suffocating love/hate relationship with Faustus – Who is really the master, who the servant? – is outstanding. In her nightgown, with her short hair, Russell remains the powerful central focus of her scenes and don't linger too long in the bar either - her on-stage singing towards the end of the interval is an infernally ingenious treat.

Masson shines as a sardonic and auto-ironic Lucifer, dangerously mellifluous more than straightforwardly intimidating and a nod too to Tom Edden for his representation of the seven deadly sins. Helped by Jon Clark’s lighting, his is a spectacular transformation through the sins. 

It certainly makes for a stimulating night at the theatre. Lloyd and Gilmour have a well-established partnership that leads to stunning visuals, usually supported by outstanding performances. Russell is fabulous, Harington’s Faustus is likely to be best enjoyed by his fans.  

Runs until June 25th.

Reviewed by Simona Negretto

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The Ruling Class - Review

Trafalgar Studios, London

*****

Written by Peter Barnes

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

James McAvoy

Director Jamie Lloyd continues to prove a deliciously petulant force in London theatre with productions of The Hothouse, Urinetown and most recently Assassins that have all sought to parody an accepted view of society, government or history. With his new production of Peter Barnes’ The Ruling Class, Lloyd again takes aim at what is shown to be a blatant madness that lies within institutionalised power structures, specifically in this work the control and influence of the English political and moneyed elites.

Barnes 1969 satire displayed a vision for the timelessness of sharp political farce, with The Ruling Class feeling as painfully poignant and relevant amongst today’s New Labour and Cameron’s Bullingdon buddies as it would have done in the Swinging Sixties, yet with moments in the play that resonate with our era’s phone hacking scandal and a ruling “Old Boys” club.

Lloyd again pairs up with James McAvoy, directing the Scottish actor in an unrelenting portrayal of the schizophrenic 14th Earl of Gurney. Mcavoy's performance will have one both crying with laughter and shifting uncomfortably, such is the recognisability of Gurney’s world. As the play progresses it darkens, becoming increasingly disquieting yet enthralling. Gurney’s arc highlights the contrasts of his world, and when he is ultimately brought into the fold of the ruling class, McAvoy offers a truly terrifying reality, performed brilliantly - and thats even without his topless unicycling!

The entire cast’s energy is sensational throughout, with Joshua McGuire in particular continuing to display his talented versatility. And in the event that Barne's carefully crafted irony may have been lost on the audience, a tenet of the play’s message is spelled out in an interjection from Anthony O’Donnell’s butler, Tucker, reminding us that it is 1% of the country owns 50% of the nation's property. A comment that is as relevant today as ever.

In what is fast becoming a recognised double act of theatrical creativity, Lloyd turns to Soutra Gilmour for her distinctive design work. Staged in the Trafalgar Studios, a venue that, in a previous existence as the Whitehall Theatre was famous for farce in the 50’s and 60’s there is a comforting appropriateness in the location. Lloyd however would be appalled should his shows ever be mistaken for comfortable viewing. The Ruling Class is satire at its best, powerfully written and sharply presented. Unmissable.

Runs until 11th April 2015

Assassins - Review

Menier Chocolate Factory, London

*****

Music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim
Book by John Weidman
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Carly Bawden and Catherine Tate

It is a thrilling, chilling intimacy that infuses the Menier's production of Assassins, Stephen Sondheim's compelling work that unfolds via the back stories of those who have taken a pot-shot at America's Presidents down the years. The audience enters a traverse space through the sinister open jaws of an oversized clown, with Soutra Gilmour's inspired design placing this show's prescribed fairground setting in a decayed theme park. Video-gamers will find more than a hint of Batman's Arkham City amidst the grotesque paraphernalia - and that's even before setting eyes on Simon Lipkin's Joker-esque Proprietor.

There is as much history as there is entertainment in this show. Broadway import Aaron Tveit is the first of the shooters, playing John Wilkes Booth, Abraham Lincoln's Confederate murderer. Booth was committed to opposing the abolition of slavery that Lincoln championed and proves to be one of the musical's few assassins who is drawn to kill purely in pursuit of a political even if reprehensible political motive. There is little that's crazy in Tveit's sensitive portrayal of a man who sees Lincoln destroying his nation and whilst many of the other assassins are executed, Booth's suicide as his captors close in, evokes a surprising pathos from the American actor.

Aside from the Proprietor, Sondheim's key narrative thread comes from Jamie Parker’s guitar-strumming Balladeer. Amidst moments of brilliant irony, Parker achieves a subtle blend of satire and tragedy as he weaves his way through the show's haphazard chronology, his final transformation, from everyman to Lee Harvey Oswald, is one of Sondheim's most chilling creative concepts.

The power of this show lies in its construction as an ensemble piece and Jamie Lloyd has assembled a world class company to portray this clutch of infamous inadequates. Catherine Tate cleverly underplays her comic genius as Sarah Jane Moore who was to have a pop at Gerald Ford, whilst in a separate bid to kill Ford, Carly Bawden's Lynette 'Squeaky' Fromme offers up another carefully crafted slice of ditzy 1970's Americana.

Rising star Stewart Clarke electrifies (literally) as F.D.Roosevelt's would be killer Giuseppe Zangara. Clarke's last Latino turn was as Pirelli in NYMT's Sweeney Todd and this young actor's Italian job has to be seen to be believed. Andy Nyman offers a perfectly nuanced nebbish as immigrant Charles Guiteau who shot Garfield in 1881. Nyman's disturbingly hilarious reprise of The Ballad of Guiteau, complete with jazz hands as his character's corpse swings from the gallows (great stagecraft from Freedom Flying) must rank as one of the most ghoulish moments in the canon.

Canadian Mike McShane is perfectly placed as the oft forgotten Samuel Byck, a middle-aged unemployed salesman who plotted to fly a 747 into Nixon's White House. Lumbering on stage in a Santa suit and in a role that credits him with no sung solos but rather rambling monologues, McShane leads the company in Assassins' most portrayal number, Another National Anthem. (And if McShane is one day cast as Willy Loman, remember that you read it here first)

Lipkin is an assured force throughout - and as each President is in turn shot at, he dons a paper target on head, back or torso, inviting gunmen to take aim. His is a performance (that also includes his acclaimed puppetry skills), that like the show itself, is as exciting as it is thought provoking. With no interval, Assassins proves to be a relentless roller-coaster ride. The most famous assassination of them all, that of John F. Kennedy in Dallas, sees the Menier's stage flooded in crimson petals, mimicking the famously televised bloody horror that the world witnessed in November 1963. 

As one of London's visionary directors and a creative force who consistently brings a perceptive flair, often sprinkled with just a hint of carnage, there was an inevitability that Jamie Lloyd would want to tackle this troubling show. His execution is flawless, ably supported by musical director Alan Williams' interpretation of Sondheim's complex melodies.

Sold out until March, this show is a work of genius that deserves a wider audience. A West End transfer may yet be a possibility, but nothing will match the cockpit-like intensity achieved in this versatile venue. The finale's ensemble of the assassins, guns aimed at the audience and all singing Everybody's Got The Right will, to quote Sondheim, stay with me for a long time.

Runs until 7th March 2015

Urinetown - Review

Apollo Theatre, London

*****

Music & lyrics by Mark Hollmann

Book & lyrics by Greg Kotis

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Jonathan Slinger

After a successful three year run on Broadway a decade ago and a recent stint at London’s St James’ Theatre, Urinetown finally makes it to the West End. Set in a dystopian, drought-ridden future where corporations control the only toilets and the down at heel population must pay for the ‘privilege to pee’, Urinetown’s producers must be wondering what will put audiences off first – its title or its subject matter. It would be a great shame if either did because this is a seriously funny, subversively witty show. (And actually, Greg Kotis’ knowing script gets that joke in long before any reviewer has thought of it. Breaking the fourth wall at will, Jonathan Slinger’s deliciously degenerate narrator, Police Officer Lockstock, tells us that nothing kills a show like ‘too much exposition’. ‘How about a terrible title?’ asks local urchin Little Sally).

Weaving the broadest slapstick humour into a grim, highly relevant and perhaps portentous Malthusian tale, Urinetown is a musical that never stops poking fun at its own genre and unlike so many of that ilk, resists the temptation to eventually embrace its clichés in the final act. Driving it all along is Mark Hollmann’s excellent score – ranging from gospel pastiche, to rousing ‘Les Mis’ chorus – and witty lyrics. Some of the songs may be a little forgettable, but they’re still perfectly pitched within the show.

Jamie Lloyd’s direction, aided by Soutra Gilmour’s wonderfully dingy design, is razor sharp and Ann Yee’s choreography is at times a comic masterclass all of its own. Musical director Alan Williams delivers not just an excellent band, but also, in the big second act showstopper ‘Run, Freedom, Run’, quite simply some of the tightest and most polished chorus singing to be found on a West End stage.

The cast is of the very highest quality – Jenna Russell is predictably wonderful as the fearsome gatekeeper of the urinal Miss Pennywise, while Slinger's Lockstock relishes many of the best lines. Karis Jack’s Little Sally and Mark Meadows’ sleazy senator deserve special mentions, as does an exceptionally strong ensemble.

Urinetown is modern musical theatre at its very best.


Booking to 24th January 2015 

Urinetown - Charity Gala Feature

Jenna Russell in Urinetown

I don’t usually plug gala performances, but as Urinetown opens in the West End, I am pleased to get behind this (number) one.

It’s on Monday October 20th supporting www.Water.org, for where Urinetown is a hilarious and satirical musical set in a futuristic, dystopian society where the Earth's water supply has been depleted, therefore making private toilets unthinkable and against the law, THERE IS A REAL GLOBAL WATER CRISIS, that we, in rainy, temperate, Northern Europe, are spared. 

Urinetown may be a dark comedy but the Water Crisis facts are the grimmest, bleakest of realities:

• 780 million people in the world lack access to safe water. 2.5 billion lack improved sanitation.

• 1 in 9 people don’t have safe water to drink. 1 in 4 doesn’t have a toilet.

• Every minute at least one child dies due to a water-related illness.

• More people in the world have access to a mobile phone than a toilet.

This special gala performance celebrates the beginning of a long-term fundraising collaboration between Urinetown and Water.org. Urinetown will be donating proceeds from the gala to the nonprofit organization, as well as providing ongoing support in conjunction with its West End run. 

“Water.org welcomes Urinetown’s support to share our vision of a world where everyone has access to safe drinking water and can experience the dignity of a toilet,” says Water.org co-founder Gary White…

…whilst Jamie Lloyd, the show’s acclaimed director adds “The best sort of theatre engages directly with the world.  It may be great fun, but it should also be vital and apposite, and perhaps, instigate a broader discussion.  Urinetown’s dystopian future does not have to be a prediction unless we make it so.  We are delighted that the production can assist the mission of Water.org whilst keeping its audience laughing along the way.” 

Tickets for the Gala range from a very reasonable £29.50, through to a £125 premium splash, that gets you into the afterparty too. If it wasn’t such a bargain, you’d think they were taking the piss!!

You can buy the tickets here:

http://www.urinetown.co.uk/gala.php 

Urinetown

St James Theatre, London

****

Music & lyrics by Mark Hollmann

Book & lyrics by Greg Kotis

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Richard Fleeshman confronts Jenna Russell

More than a decade after it's acclaimed Broadway debut, Urinetown splashes down on this side of the Atlantic, premiering at London's bijou St James Theatre. Brash and brassy, the show is set in an America of the future. Water is scarce, sewerage is rationed and evil big business controls the municipal toilets, where "spending a penny" costs just that and sometimes considerably more. Packing a seriously portentous message (wise minds have long suggested that future wars will be fought over water rather than oil), the show is a satirical meta-musical, that not only takes the piss out of peeing, but also out of its own genre too.

The style throughout is of a 1960’s graphic novel. The bad guys are really bad, the cops are in the pay of the suits and the poor are down-trodden. The violence is beautifully choreographed and when the (copious) stage-blood flows it is often as a thick black goo as well as the classic scarlet, mimicking the comic-books' monochrome. Thomas Malthus is the other literary reference that streams through the show. Jonathan Slinger (who only recently was the RSC’s Hamlet at Stratford) opens proceedings as sardonic cop Officer Lockstock, sat on stage in a mise en scene, quietly reading from the 18th century philosopher as the audience take their seats. Malthus’ apocalyptic predictions drive the tale, prophesying that ultimately the world’s resources will not be able to sustain its geometrically expanding human population. 

Jamie Lloyd again lays down his marker as a creator of visionary theatre. Working with a first class company his caricatured characters are as hilarious as they are disturbing. Musical theatre's grand dame in waiting, Jenna Russell, is Penelope Pennywise the grotesquely rubber-aproned supervisor of Public Amenity 9. Her role down amongst the city's low lifes is to guard the facility, ensuring that only those who pay, can pee. With her ghostly, ghastly, white-slapped face Russell is sublime and her big number, It’s A Privilege To Pee, is a masterclass in performance.

Also starring is Richard Fleeshman as Bobby Strong, the hero who dares to challenge the system. Fleeshman does not disappoint and if his big number Look At The Sky is a touch too heavy on the ironic melodrama, he more than makes up for it in delivery. As corporate baddie, Caldwell B. Cladwell, Simon Paisley Day is everything a villain should be. With a moustache inspired by Moriarty and the sharpest satirical dialog, Day relishes the role and is a joy to watch throughout. At times the show’s structure creaks more than it leaks. Lockstock's role is also that of occasional narrator, a mechanism that too often seems to be an easy way out for the writers, checking up that the audience “geddit” just in case the show has nauseated rather than amused.

The strengths of this production however lie within the carefully crafted values that producer Julian Stoneman has evidently insisted (and spent a fortune) upon. The acting company is top drawer throughout with even supporting roles being outstanding. Karis Jack’s Little Sally is a cracker and Adam Pearce’s thuggishly rotund Officer Barrel (Lockstock’s sidekick) is another modest glimpse of excellence. After the interval the glorious ensemble number Run, Freedom, Run displays every sign of evolving into the show-stopper that the cast clearly hope it to be. Soutra Gilmour's ingeniously grim designs of sewer and slum with multi-level multiple revolves suit the steeply raked theatre perfectly, alongside Ann Yee’s choreography and Kate Water’s multiple fight designs that are delivered with pinpoint drill and perfectly timed conviction.

Urinetown is musical theatre of the highest standard. Clearly staged with a deserved transfer in mind it is the work of a cast and creative team at the top of their game and demands to be seen. You're in for a treat!

Runs until 3rd May 2014

The Hothouse

Trafalgar Studios, London

*****

Written by Harold Pinter

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Simon Russell Beale and John Simm

The Hothouse is a delicious treat of a Pinter play. Unashamedly political, it encompasses sexiness, absurdity and menacing violence, as well as some brilliantly comic moments.

Simon Russell Beale is Roote, an ex-military man who leads the team at an undefined state institution, administering psychiatric treatments to its residents, none of whom are named, only numbered. John Simm is Gibbs his oleaginous but oh so perceptive number two, with eyes for Roote's job. It is Christmas, one patient has just died whilst another has just given birth to a child, apparently fathered by one of Roote's team. It is quite clear that Roote has lost his grip on managing the institution and Russell Beale plays him as a tragi-comic with gloriously controlled eye-popping incredulity. Think Basil Fawlty crossed with his long-term hotel resident, The Major and when in act two, Russell Beale directs his formidable acting firepower towards some perfectly timed slapstick involving whisky throwing and cake eating, the comedy is sublime.

By way of contrast, clean shaven Gibbs is no laughing matter at all, though his repartee with Roote is as good a double-act as you are likely to see. He has the measure of his buffoon boss, along with his colleagues and his elegant yet smarmy and duplicitous servility is another masterclass of performance. Where his fellow staffers only aspire to climb the ladder of promotion, Simms scales it ruthlessly and when his ambition and motive demand that his colleague Lamb be subject to brutal Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT), Gibbs does not flinch from arranging the shocking voltage to be applied. The reasons for patients'  detention in this facility are never made clear, but the frequent references to “the Ministry” combined with Soutra Gilmour's brilliant set depicting a greying, publicly-funded government department, add weight to the suggestion that the unit adminsters a brutally harsh response to those who seek to challenge an authoritarian regime.

Key supporting cast are Harry Melling's Lamb and John Heffernan's Lush. Both are on the faculty staff albeit with different responsibilities and both deliver impressive monologues, mastering Pinter's complex concepts and Melling's delivery of his character’s reaction to the ECT is harrowing to watch. Indira Varma is Miss Cutts, a seductively attractive staff member who, trapped in the stifling hothouse of the institution , craves male approval and knows how to use her body to attract it. That actors of the stature of Clive Rowe and Christopher Timothy have been recruited for critical but nonetheless tiny cameo roles, speaks volumes for the cache and impact of this wonderfully slick production.

It's not a long show - each act barely 45 minutes or so, but the production is an accessible collection of performances that provides The Hothouse with a very fresh interpretation as well as also making it a useful introduction to Pinter for those not familiar with the writer’s work. Encapsulating absurdity and menace, as well as outstanding satire, this company rank amongst the best to be found on a London stage.  

Runs to August 3 2013